


I Never Knew my Heart Could Sing (in a Warm Embrace)

by fiasco_sauce



Series: It's Just the Nearness of You [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Captain America Sam Wilson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omega Steve Rogers, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiasco_sauce/pseuds/fiasco_sauce
Summary: “Hey, I don’t know if you remember when we were introduced before,” Sam said, taking a chance and meeting Barnes’ eyes directly. Barnes didn’t puff up at all, just held Sam’s gaze calmly. “I’m Sam Wilson. Steve here’s my jogging partner.”Steve hummed consideringly. “‘Partner’ is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”“Oh, is that how it is? You wanna do a lap right now? ‘Cause I’ll go, Rogers, I’m ready whenever you are. And I seem to remember I won our last little race.”“Because you brought yourwings, you big cheater.”Oh. Barnes wassmiling, a tiny little curl that wavered and then steadied as he looked at Steve’s indignant expression.“You never saidfootrace,” Sam said, for at least the dozenth time.(Bucky meets the other Avengers, and he and Steve work some things out.)





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> SO HEY, remember when I was stressed about the 2016 elections and rolled around in self-indulgent hurt/comfort with a lot of hugging and soft things and recovery fluff in the first two installments in this series? I've been working on and off on follow-up fics for, uh, the last two years. Things are getting *waves vaguely but emphatically at everything* again, so I'm now kicking the first two out into the world, as chapters 1 - 2 here. 
> 
> These first two chapters can be read as complete ficlets on their own, so I'll leave the chapter count as 2/4 to indicate I've got more planned, but if you don't want to wait, it shouldn't leave you in suspense to read these first two now. (Chapter 3 is also done, but that one DOES leave off at an emotional cliffhanger and I don't want to do that to you guys or, frankly, myself, so I'm holding off on posting that one until the whole thing's done, however long that takes.)

“Steve’s floor, please.”

Sam felt ridiculous as soon as he said it. JARVIS ran surveillance over all the common areas of the Tower; he must have heard the whole strategy session Sam and the Avengers (minus one) had just concluded fifteen minutes ago. Of course he already knew where Sam was going.

JARVIS was polite enough not to mention it, and the elevator rose smoothly and silently. Sam used the time to let go of distractions and get in the zone. It was just like going to group, he reminded himself, just like walking into a room full of vets who were on edge and might need some help staying grounded. He knew he could do that. He did it every day.

Sam hadn't been sure at first that counseling was the right line of work for a reluctantly recovering adrenaline junkie like himself, but it turned out having almost no fear response left was pretty useful if you were going to spend a lot of time with unstable, combat-trained alphas. Beta pheromones could calm people down by broadcasting an all-clear signal, but not if the beta was also freaking out. After all the time he’d spent dropping into war zones on experimental wings, it took a _lot_ to freak Sam out, and it had been a long time since Sam had gotten into a situation with an unstable vet he couldn’t defuse. He was hoping today wasn’t the day he broke his streak.

Steve and Barnes had been holed up together for a couple of weeks now, with no contact other than JARVIS’ deliberately generic wellness checks. Sam had gotten JARVIS' assurance that there hadn't been any violent incidents since Steve had moved Barnes up to his floor. At one point when they had both still been in Barnes’ cell, he had reportedly pinned Steve to the floor while they "resolved a miscommunication," as JARVIS put it, whatever the fuck _that_ meant, but otherwise Barnes hadn't been aggressive.

Still, the last time Sam had seen Barnes was when he had been snarling and spitting like a rabid tiger in Siberia, and the time before that he had broken Sam's wings and kicked him off the helicarrier, and the time before _that_ he had smashed Sam's windshield and yanked out his steering wheel, so. He and Barnes had a little bit of a history.

But Sam trusted Steve’s judgment, and Steve said they were ready for company, so here he was, taking deep breaths and preparing to step onto Steve's floor.

The elevator doors opened onto Steve’s living room. Right smack dab in the middle of the room was a plush, well-curtained den assembled out of furniture and blankets, saturated with alpha and omega scents. It was just...right there. Right out in the open.

Sam stared at the den and felt his cheeks get hot. Okay, this was...not what Sam had expected. But hey, he had entered Steve’s apartment and there was no enraged alpha bearing down on him, so he could already cross the worst case scenario off the list.

“Sam!” One of the den’s curtains parted and Steve poked his head out, and Sam was startled for a whole new reason, because Steve Rogers was _smiling_. It wasn’t a little wry half-twist of his lips, or a blink-and-you-miss it flash, it was a full-on _beaming_ smile that took years off his face. Sam couldn’t have been more startled if he’d dyed his hair purple.

Ever since the Triskelion had fallen, Steve had been retreating further into stoicism, speaking less and laughing never. Sam had seen that before in wounded soldiers: the still, stiff tension of suppressed pain, of mortal wounds being endured. Finding Barnes and bringing him stateside had helped for a week or so, until Steve had realized Barnes wasn’t getting any better, and then Steve had gone right back to dying by inches.

Now, though, Steve was--not relaxed, exactly, he looked too alert for that, but calm. Focused and present. Smiling like he meant it.

It was immediately easier to stay calm himself. He’d been worried for Steve, despite all JARVIS’ assurances, but Steve looked happier right now than Sam had ever seen him.

“Hey, Steve.” Sam stepped closer, but kept a healthy six foot gap between himself and the den’s entrance, waiting for Steve to come to him. “I brought lunch.”

“Thanks.” Steve crawled out of the den, somehow managing to look more graceful than awkward while coming out of his crouch. He took the take-out bag Sam was carrying and clapped Sam on the shoulder, no hesitation over the contact. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” Sam kept a surreptitious eye out for Barnes as he followed Steve to the kitchen. It was weird that he hadn’t made an appearance yet. Sam had expected to be greeted with a lot more grumbling and posturing, as a stranger entering Barnes’ territory, but the whole apartment was quiet.

Well, if Barnes wasn’t going to make a big deal out of Sam’s visit, neither was Sam. He would just follow Steve’s cues.

“How’s the team?” Steve asked. “You want anything to drink?”

“Water’s good, thanks.” Sam accepted a glass of water and watched Steve pour himself a glass of juice. Apple juice, no less. He briefly regretted that he didn’t have his phone handy to snap a pic of Steve’s all-American beverage choice to send to Natasha. “The team is fine. Thor’s still in London with Dr. Foster. Darcy sent a pic of him wearing one of those Buckingham Palace guard hats.”

Steve briefly covered his eyes with his hand. “Did he steal it? Did _Darcy_ steal it?”

“I was afraid to ask.” Sam leaned against the counter by the fridge, keeping the living room visible out of the corner of his eye. He was careful not to startle or turn his head when one of the den curtains twitched. “Clint and Natasha vanished for a few hours on Tuesday, and Clint came back with a twisted ankle.”

“Is he icing it?”

“He had a bag of frozen peas duct-taped to the bandage. I confiscated the tape and made him switch to at least wrapping the bag of peas in a towel, since he refused to upgrade to a real cold pack.”

“Did you know he has seven dedicated bags of injury peas in his freezer? I’ve seen him use them all at once.”

Sam shook his head, more resigned than surprised. Put a bow in his hand, and Clint was competence personified; leave him unsupervised, and he might dislocate his elbow tripping over his own pants, and Sam _wished_ that were a theoretical example. “Tony’s busy with five million projects, as usual. Bruce Skyped in from the Malibu lab yesterday and he and Tony talked science at each other for three hours straight, so I’m assuming they’re making good progress.”

What Bruce was really doing was keeping himself as far away from the Tower as he could get while Barnes’ stability was an open question, since nobody wanted to find out what would happen if the Hulk caught the scent of an unfamiliar alpha in the Tower. Sam hoped the break was good for Bruce anyway. Tony had found an interesting biomass fuel project for him to work on while he had access to the Malibu labs, and Pepper was out there with him making sure he took breaks to sleep and eat and maybe even walk along the beach, if she was really feeling ambitious, which was as close to a vacation as Bruce would let himself take. He had seemed relaxed on yesterday’s call, his nose a little sunburnt.

“What about you, are you doing okay?”

Sam was thrown even though he should have expected this. As much as he kept trying to think of this like a therapy appointment, it really wasn’t. Steve was his _friend_ , not his client. Even beyond that, he was _Steve_. Of course he’d ask how Sam was doing. “Yeah, man, I’m doing fine. How about you?”

“We’re good.” Steve aimed his smile over Sam’s head. Sam made sure he turned slowly, not suddenly.

Barnes was standing in the kitchen doorway, long hair messy but not matted, wearing a huge gray sweater and flannel pajama bottoms. He was looking directly at Sam.

“Hey,” Sam said, keeping his voice friendly and neutral. He looked at Bucky’s nose rather than trying to meet his eyes, then switched his gaze back to his glass of water after a few seconds.

Even a short glimpse was enough to tell him some useful things. Barnes was a lot cleaner than he had been a few weeks ago, and his beard had been clipped short. Steve had some chin scruff of his own. Sam wondered if Tony’s hasty security upgrade of Steve’s floor had included confiscating Steve’s straight razor. It would have been a little pointless given how easily the Winter Soldier could fashion improvised weapons, but leaving an open blade in easy access might have been more than Tony could stomach. Barnes was standing tall, looking clear-eyed and steady on his feet. His scent slowly permeated the kitchen, carrying a bitter tinge of anxiety, but not anything close to a full-blown fight-or-flight response.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, already taking a third glass out of the cupboard. “Want some juice?”

Barnes sidled up behind Steve and wrapped both arms around him, hooking his chin over Steve's shoulder as Steve poured. Steve didn't even blink, just leaned back a little into Barnes. Barnes shoved his face into Steve's neck and let his eyes close, breathing deep. He opened his eyes just a crack to peek at Sam.

It was weird as hell. With any other alpha, Sam would have pegged the full-body contact as a territorial display, a possessive _fuck off_ to the intruding beta, but there was zero aggression radiating from Barnes. He just looked a little wary. It probably helped that Steve was completely at ease, his scent light and free from any hint of distress, his face open and calm.

Barnes grunted something that might have been the word “thanks” when Steve passed him the juice. He peeled himself off of Steve’s back to drink.

Steve used the distance to turn and press a kiss to the side of Barnes’ head. "You get sick of the tent?"

"I like the tent," Barnes replied absently, his eyes still on Sam, but hovering at chin level rather than meeting Sam’s eyes. “Smelled food.”

"Oh, I see what it takes to get you to come and be social," Steve said, voice warm and teasing. "Lucky for us Sam's a real considerate guest."

"I brought tacos." Sam lifted the bag off the counter to illustrate, and barely restrained himself from adding _if you eat that sort of thing_.

Barnes’ nostrils flared. He looked interested in the food, but not interested enough to unwrap his arm from Steve. They shuffled a few feet forward in tandem so Steve could get to another cupboard and pull out plates. Sam kept his face neutral, like the synchronized supersoldier show was something he saw every day. He passed Steve the bag, careful not to let his fingers touch Steve’s, although Bucky’s eyes were tracking the bag itself more closely than Sam’s hands.

Steve stuck his face in the bag and looked up hopefully. “Guacamole?”

“And extra salsa and sour cream. I remember your Chipotle condiment rampage.”

“Why bother going somewhere with that many options if you don’t even try them?” Steve started unloading tacos and plastic towers of sides. Barnes opened a tub of guacamole, stuck a metal finger in, and licked it clean. When his hand went back for more, Steve casually smacked his wrist.

“Get a spoon, ya big lug.”

Barnes huffed and rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

Sam caught himself staring and turned around to get silverware, chastising himself. _They’re people, not zoo animals_. This wasn’t a work appointment where he needed to observe clinically. He was just having lunch with his friend and his friend’s mate, no big deal. It wasn’t even going to be the most awkward meal he’d ever had, not unless Barnes managed to eclipse his sister’s college boyfriend for sheer off-putting weirdness, and that record had stood through _seven years_ of Thanksgiving get-togethers. 

Once they all had full plates, lunch was actually pretty normal. They ate in the kitchen, leaning against the counters, Steve and Barnes pressed up beside each other but not actively cuddling. Sam and Steve carried the conversation while Barnes ate quietly and steadily. His body had loosened and his scent had evened out by the time the tacos were gone.

Sam started rinsing off his own plate automatically, only to be intercepted by Steve.

“You brought the food,” Steve said firmly. “I’ll do the dishes. Buck, what do we have for dessert?”

Barnes actually left Steve’s side and crossed the room to rummage around in the freezer. He pulled out a box of popsicles and set it on the counter about halfway between him and Sam, then stepped back.

Sam figured that was an invitation, and stepped forward to open the box. The popsicles were rocket shaped and layered with red, white, and blue. “Very patriotic.”

Steve looked over his shoulder and snorted. “Tony ordered those. Joke’s on him, they’re delicious. We’ve been going through a box a day.”

“Nice.” Sam ate his popsicle just slowly enough to not get brain freeze. Barnes had bitten half of his off at once and swallowed with every appearance of enjoyment. Steve was licking his a lot more delicately, catching any drips before they could smear his fingers. Barnes was watching Sam again, more meditatively than warily, and this time Sam let himself make glancing eye contact. Barnes blinked at him like a sleepy cat.

While Steve was putting the popsicle box away, Barnes stepped forward, sidling into Sam’s space for the first time.

Sam put his popsicle stick on the counter. It was surprisingly easy not to tense up at a strange alpha coming closer--not that Barnes was exactly a stranger, not anymore. Barnes was so cautious that Sam was more inclined to reassure him than be wary himself. “Something I can do for you, Bucky?”

Barnes didn’t say anything, but he took another sideways step closer.

“He’ll back off if you tell him to, Sam.” Steve leaned back against the wall, his arms folded, a deliberate signal that he wasn’t going to intervene--that he didn’t _need_ to intervene. Steve trusted that no one was going to get hurt here.

Sam took that as his cue and let his own arms fall to his sides, making his posture a little more open, a little more approachable. Barnes edged closer, still giving Sam that assessing look, and Sam realized all over again that this guy had been totally isolated for _months_. Even if he and Steve had spent the last couple weeks wrapped up in each other, new people were probably an interesting novelty. Barnes was bound to be curious.

“Hey, I don’t know if you remember when we were introduced before,” Sam said, taking a chance and meeting Barnes’ eyes directly. Barnes didn’t puff up at all, just held Sam’s gaze calmly. “I’m Sam Wilson. Steve here’s my jogging partner.”

Steve hummed consideringly. “‘Partner’ is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Oh, is that how it is? You wanna do a lap right now? ‘Cause I’ll go, Rogers, I’m ready whenever you are. And I seem to remember I won our last little race.”

“Because you brought your _wings_ , you big cheater.”

Oh. Barnes was _smiling_ , a tiny little curl that wavered and then steadied as he looked at Steve’s indignant expression.  

“You never said _foot_ race,” Sam said, for at least the fifth time.

Steve waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Hi, Sam,” Barnes said, voice deep and quiet. “I’m Bucky.”

“Good to meet you, man.” Taking risks had worked out so far, so Sam held out his hand to shake. Bucky shook it carefully, then brushed his wrist against Sam’s as he let go, doing just a tiny bit of scent marking, the kind of thing a lot of alphas did with friends.

“Oh, I pass muster?”

“You brought tacos,” Bucky replied, and his lip curled again when Steve laughed.

The burst of talking seemed to wear Bucky out. He retreated to the bathroom while Steve and Sam put the clean dishes away, and the sound of a tub filling with water started soon after.

“He’s a big fan of baths,” Steve said. He was winding down a little now that Barnes was out of the room, some of that intent, focused energy draining out of him. “He stayed in there for three hours yesterday filling the tub with new water whenever it got cold. I would apologize to Tony about the hot water bill, but I’m guessing he hasn’t noticed it going up.”

“Yeah, no chance. He’s spent most of the last week pacing in the common room and badgering JARVIS for updates every fifteen minutes. Utility bills are not on his radar."

Steve groaned and dug the heel of his palm into his eyes. “Is Jim still here?”

“Yeah, and Pepper’s been calling from Malibu to check in every evening.”

“You can tell him Bucky and I are fine, right? So he’ll stop worrying?”

“Stop worrying,” Sam repeated dryly. “Tony Stark.”

“Okay, point taken. So he’ll worry less?”

Sam, to his relief, found that was something he could promise easily. Steve looked miles better than when Sam had last seen him. “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll tell him you and your alpha are doing better, and then maybe he’ll stop trying to dodge _his_ alphas and actually get a full night’s sleep.”

Steve got a really hilarious deer-in-the-headlights look. “Bucky’s not my alpha.”

Sam gave that the incredulous response it deserved. "Steve. You two have a den right there in the living room."

"It's not a _den,_ Sam. We're not--" Steve stopped and went pink, so Sam was left to fill in the rest of the sentence as _fucking in there_ on his own.

"It's not a den, huh? So that's not where you guys sleep? Bucky doesn't have stashes of food and water and weapons in there? It doesn’t feel like the safest part of the apartment?"

Steve looked at the nest of blankets and blushed harder.

"Yeah, that's a den, Steve," Sam said. "Which is fine, it's your own damn apartment. I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life. I just wanted to give you a heads up before anyone else came to visit."

"Oh my God. Tony would never let me hear the end of it. But, Sam," Steve said, suddenly distressed, “Bucky _loves_ the blanket fort. I can’t just get rid of it.”

“Woah, who said anything about getting rid of it? You could move it into your bedroom, right?”

“Then it really would be a den.”

“And that’s a problem?”

Steve’s jaw firmed up like he was braced for a punch. “I’m still not sure how much he remembers. If he knows how we were before. He’s not ready for that, Sam.”

Sam wasn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole. He would do a lot for Steve, but someone else, preferably a trained therapist who was actually on the clock and getting _paid_ for this, was going to have to bring Steve up to speed on the difference between sex and intimacy and the distinction between _mating_ and _being mates_. Steve and Bucky might not be having sex, but they were still the most goddamn _mated_ pair Sam had ever seen in his life.

But that really wasn’t Sam’s business, and he could get his point across without making Steve debate the exact nature of his relationship. “This isn’t about sex right now, right? This is about helping Bucky feel comfortable and safe. You both sleeping okay in the tent?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, relaxing. “He’s been sleeping a ton, actually. Dr. Cho said he might. His brain has a lot of damage to repair.”

“Then what you’re doing is working, and there’s no reason you can’t keep on doing it. Just maybe not in the middle of the living room, if you don’t want the whole team gossiping about it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve ran his hands through his hair, then turned decisively away from the doorway and its view of the den. “So you’ve told me about the team, what about you? Your sister and her kids doing okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.” Sam thought about taking his phone out and showing Steve the new pictures of his nieces, just to stall for a little longer, but depending on how this conversation went he might need them in reserve to cheer Steve up after. “I’m thinking of heading back to D.C. for a while.”

Steve looked startled. “Really? Just for a visit, or do you think you’ll stay?”

Their hunt for Barnes hadn’t been compatible with the civilian life Sam had assembled after leaving the military, but Sam had done his best to balance both. Sam had resigned from the VA and rented his house out to a friend who had wanted to move out of her shitty apartment, but he still owned the property, even though he hadn’t set foot inside in six months. Now that Barnes was safely installed at the Tower, Sam wasn’t on call 24/7 anymore. He could go back once his tenant’s lease was up. Start that normal life up again.

But he’d walked away from it without a moment's hesitation the instant Captain America had needed his help, and Sam couldn’t ignore what that said about his priorities.

“I don’t know,” he said. “The VA’s always hiring. I could get my old job back pretty easily if I wanted it, but I’m not sure that’d be moving forward, you know?”

Steve turned to face Sam squarely, glowing with that particular _Steve_ earnestness that he could just pull out of his back pocket and unleash on an unsuspecting populace whenever he wanted. “If you would consider joining the team full time, Sam, we’d be privileged to have you. How would you feel about being Captain America?"

Sam stared. "You're serious. You want to step down?”

Steve shoved both hands into his pockets and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Bucky doesn’t like us being apart. He doesn’t even like me being out of sight for too long, and to be honest, I'm not crazy about it either. I was pretty close to cracking up before we got him back. You probably know that better than anyone.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just reached out to grip Steve’s shoulder.

Steve blew out a breath and leaned into Sam’s hand. “I need to take some time to get my head on straight, and Bucky needs me to be here for him. Someone should carry the shield. I can’t think of a more deserving person for the job, or anyone I’d trust more with it, than you."

And how was Sam supposed to say no to that? Purposeful work that made full use of his skills. A team at his back. A home to go back to after every fight. Sam pictured it, let himself really _feel_ it, a future where he was Captain America, fighting with Steve’s crew of absolute maniacs against the biggest, baddest threats the world had to offer.

It gave him the same rush of exhilarated joy Sam got from snapping open his wings. That was enough to make the decision for him.

"On one condition,” Sam said. “You get yourself some real therapy, through SHIELD or one of Tony’s contacts or however you want. Not just because you think it'll help you help Bucky, but because you deserve to get it."

"Deal." Steve reached down under the table, pulling up a cymbal-shaped case, and _boom_ , there it was. Captain America’s shield lying on Steve’s kitchen counter next to the empty taco bags. Steve handed it to Sam like this whole thing had been a foregone conclusion.

The shield was heavier than Sam expected, but nothing Sam couldn’t handle. Sam ran his fingers over the smooth enamel paint and shook his head ruefully. "I could have negotiated for way more than I got, huh?"

Steve was back to looking smug, the little shit. "Tony’s already building you your own floor here in the Tower, if that sweetens the deal at all."

Sam looked out the floor-to-ceiling window bank, seeing nothing but clear sky. He wouldn’t even have to go to the roof to take off from an apartment this high up; he could step right off his own balcony. “It might,” he said honestly. “Thank you.”

“This was all you, Sam,” Steve said, and held out his hand. “Welcome to the team.”

They shook on it. Steve swiped his wrist right next to where Bucky had scent-marked Sam, the casualness of the motion belied by the way Steve looked up from under his lashes to watch Sam’s reaction.

“Am I getting pack-bonded now?” Sam asked, amused at the faint flush on Steve’s cheeks. “Is that part of the whole Avengers compensation package?”

“Only if you want to be,” Steve said, way too innocent.

“Oh, so that’s how it is. Do I finally get to find out if all those tabloid articles about team orgies were right?”

“Well, we do have team bonding nights, or we did before I got caught up in looking for Bucky. Can’t say I noticed any orgies. We watched a lot of Project Runway.”

“You know, I think the internet would flip out about that even harder than if you were actually having orgies.”

“Orgies?” Bucky said from the doorway.

Sam and Steve both jumped a little. It was just _unnatural_ for a guy that big to move that quietly. 

“It’s nothing, Buck, just old gossip,” Steve said. “You have a good bath?”

“Yes.” Bucky’s hair was dripping a little at the ends. He was wearing a clean set of pajama pants--no, Sam amended, once Bucky got within sniffing distance, he was wearing an already-worn set of _Steve’s_ pajama pants. He walked up and bumped right into Steve’s side, his right arm curling behind Steve’s back. “Nap?”

Steve smiled at him with a softness Sam hadn’t known Steve’s face could even produce. “Sure, Buck. Let me say bye to Sam and I’ll be right in.”

Bucky nodded agreeably. He rubbed his face all over Steve’s neck, replacing whatever scent had been washed off in the shower, and deliberately showed Sam his back as he wiggled back into the den. Sam figured that was as close to a ringing endorsement as he was going to get.

Steve pulled Sam into a hug before he left, Steve’s familiar scent thrown into sharper relief by the alpha scent overlaying it. “Thanks for coming by, Sam. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” Sam said, then decided to push his good luck and really go for broke. “I’ve got to keep tabs on my pack-mates, right?”

Steve hugged him again for that, and Sam went back into the elevator with the unfamiliar scent of Steve's contentment clinging to his clothes. 


	2. Natasha

Natasha heard the soft ding that was JARVIS’ equivalent of a polite knock and groaned into her pillow.

“Ms. Romanoff?”

“One good night’s sleep, JARVIS.” Natasha didn’t even try not to sound pitiful. For an artificial intelligence, JARVIS was a surprisingly soft touch, and sounding pathetic could only improve her odds of being left alone. “That’s all I wanted.”

Natasha had gotten in yesterday from a gruelling undercover mission that had culminated in a six-hour cat-and-mouse stalk through an abandoned military base. She’d managed to stagger back from SHIELD headquarters to the Tower despite being too tired to open more than one eye at a time, and had collapsed into bed after muttering “blackout mode” in the general direction of the room’s speakers.

That should have been enough to ensure she wasn’t disturbed until she’d slept for at least twelve hours, but JARVIS, like his creator, tended to interpret direct instructions as suggestions if he felt like he had a good enough reason to overrule them.

“Apologies for the interruption, but your presence is required.”

“Is the world ending?”

The line clicked and JARVIS’ voice was replaced by Tony’s. “Worse than that. The thermodynamic duo is having a meltdown in their kitchen.”

Natasha sat straight up in bed, her hair swinging over her head and flopping against her face. “Is anyone hurt?”

“No violence so far, just a lot of yelling and, and _feelings_ , but something set Barnes off and now he won’t even let Steve _touch_ him. You know it’s serious if he’s dropped the velcro act. There are crying supersoldiers all over the kitchen floor, and I need you to _fix it_ , Romanoff,” Tony said, voice fast and clipped. “I will buy you a car, I will buy you _all_ the cars, just please get up here and make them stop.”

Natasha was already pulling on pants.

 

As soon as the elevator doors opened Natasha could smell the distress, alpha and omega both, saturating the air. Tony was pacing back and forth in the living room.

"Oh, thank God." As soon as he saw her, Tony darted back towards the kitchen. "Barnes remembered something about twenty minutes ago and hasn't been coherent since. We can’t get him to calm down enough to talk about it."

James and Steve were both on the floor, a few feet of space between them. James was huddled against the kitchen counters with his knees up to his chest. His flesh hand was locked around his metal wrist. Steve was crouched on the balls of his feet and leaning forward, obviously restraining himself from going closer. Both of them were barefoot and wearing pajamas.

As soon as Natasha stepped into view, James' focus snapped to her. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and rolled onto his knees. His arms were held rigidly behind his back. He tilted his head submissively, ceding authority to Natasha.

"James," she said softly. In their few previous encounters she had always waited for James to approach her, but this time she stepped right into his space. She rested a hand on his bowed head and sank her fingers into his thick hair. He didn't so much as twitch. "What's going on?"

"Я готов отвечать," he said. A shiver ran through him before he stilled again. The gunpowder odor of alpha fear strengthened, and Steve made a low, hurt noise.

Natasha cupped the back of James' head and tugged him forward until his forehead was resting on her thigh. When she ran her nails over his scalp, he released a shuddering breath and sagged against her.

"Good," she said softly. She pet James' hair until his breathing steadied. Once his fear scent had dulled, she put a finger under his chin to tilt his head up and brushed the hair out of his face. "Why do you think I'm here?"

James looked at her chin, refusing to meet her eyes. "Take me in. Punishment."

" _Nobody_ is taking you _anywhere_. Nobody is going to hurt you," Steve said.

Natasha sent him a warning look and he subsided, quiet but clearly seething. Tony, who had been hovering just inside the kitchen, stepped up behind Steve to lean a leg into his back. Steve calmed a little with the contact.

"James," Natasha said. "Why do you think I'm going to punish you?"

"Hurt Steve." His face twisted and she released his chin, letting him look down to hide his expression behind his hair.

"You didn't--" Steve cut off when Tony put a hand on his shoulder.

"Let them talk," Tony murmured. Steve scowled at the floor.

"You hurt Steve?" Natasha asked.

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"Stabbed him in the shoulder. Shot him. Three times." Another shudder ran through him. He leaned harder against her thigh, instinctively seeking comfort. She kept one hand stroking over his head and down his neck, slow and soothing. "Hit him with the arm. Five times. Maybe more."

"Why did you hurt him?"

"He was my mission."

"Someone ordered you to hurt him?"

"Yes."

"Did you want to hurt him?"

James hesitated. "I wanted him to stop. He was making me remember. It--hurt. I wanted it to stop."

Steve whined, high and involuntary. James' shoulders hunched. Natasha wished they could be in separate rooms for this, but it would take an army to pull Steve away from James when they were both this upset.

"What happened next?" she asked. _Mission report_ , she thought unwillingly, and then had to bury the associated memories before her perfect calm could falter.

"I remembered. I remembered him. He fell."

"What did you do?"

"I went after him. Pulled him out of the water." James looked up, dawning relief on his face as he followed the memory to its conclusion. "Made sure he was breathing. Left him on the riverbank."

"Did you complete your mission?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It was Steve. I knew him. I didn't want to hurt him."

"Do you want to hurt Steve now?"

"No," James said vehemently.

"Good," Natasha said. "Do you have a mission to hurt Steve now?"

"No."

"Are you going to hurt Steve?"

"Don't know."

Steve opened his mouth. Tony pinched the top of his ear, and Steve swatted his hand away, but kept quiet.

“Why do you think you might hurt Steve?”

“Did before. When I didn’t remember. Might forget again.”

And who could argue with that? James’ memory was unreliable; it was a reasonable concern. It wouldn’t be easy to talk him out of it, and Natasha wasn’t sure she should, for his sake _and_ Steve’s.

She turned to Steve instead. "Steve, if James ever attacks you again, will you defend yourself?"

"I'm not going to hurt him," Steve said stubbornly. James growled, which made Tony startle, but didn't faze Steve one bit.

"Steve," Natasha said patiently, and Steve was going to owe her _so_ many foot rubs when this conversation was over and he was thinking clearly again, "do you think it hurts James to know he hurt you?"

Steve hesitated. "That's different."

"Oh, come on," Tony burst out. "You think your alpha is going to be hunky dory if he comes out of a fugue state and realizes that he's ground you into a fine paste? You think that's _better_ for him than you knocking him out until he sleeps it off?"

"Steve," James said, looking right at Steve for the first time. He reached out with his right arm. Steve knelt at his side instantly, taking his hand. Natasha took an unobtrusive step back. "Steve."

"I'm here."

James slid his metal hand behind Steve’s head and gripped the back of his neck. "If I try to hurt you, you have to stop me. I want you to promise."

“Bucky,” Steve said, voice cracking.

“I know you won’t hurt me unless you have to. I _know_.” James pressed their foreheads together, his eyes closed. “But if you have to, I want you to. I need to know I won’t hurt you. Never again.”

“Okay, Buck.” Steve blinked hard and pressed a kiss to James’ flesh palm. “Okay. I promise.”

James flung himself forward as Steve’s arms came up to catch him. They locked together like magnets, limbs entwined and faces tucked into each other’s necks, audience forgotten.

Tony rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Natasha followed him out of the kitchen, giving James and Steve some privacy.

“They’ll be like that for a while,” Tony said. “Jesus, what a way to wake up. I could use a drink or three, you want a drink?”

Natasha wrapped her hand around Tony’s elbow, steering him away from the bar in the living room. “I want waffles.”

“Okay?” Tony let her tow him into the elevator. “What’s happening here?”

“You’re taking me out for breakfast, and then we’re both getting pedicures.”

Tony looked down. “I’m wearing bunny slippers and War Machine pajamas.”

“You’ve worn stranger things in public.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Tony wiggled his toes so the bunny ears on his slippers waved back and forth. “And these _are_ my most formal slippers.”

“You could get toenail polish to match.”

“Natasha, you’re a genius.” Tony slung an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his side. “Thanks.”

Natasha felt a curl of warm pleasure in her chest. It was strange to have a family, even a makeshift one, after so many years without. Strange, but the good kind of strange. She forgot to appreciate it, sometimes, until moments like this reminded her.

She rested her head on Tony’s shoulder. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Sam and Natasha are betas, Tony's an omega, and all the Avengers are pack-bonded, but not necessarily sleeping with each other. The only pairing that's going to be specified in this series is Steve/Bucky, but if you want to add any poly headcanons for your own enjoyment, do so with my ringing endorsement.


End file.
